


Emùlhêkh

by nightchaser_sla



Series: Crown of the North [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Modern Royalty, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:32:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightchaser_sla/pseuds/nightchaser_sla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was just a plain old every day nurse. He worked in a clinic, lived in a little flat, and was as unassuming as possible. That was until the Queen of Wales ... a real life Queen ... turned up at his front door at 2am one morning. She was offering him the most impossible job. He was required to be private nurse to her husband's cousin Princess Dis of Erebor. </p><p>He takes the job with the impression that he is signing up for a cushy job with a good salary, and the adventure of moving to this small Scandinavian country. What he didn't sign up for was a headstrong patient, a pair of mischievous teenage boys, a menagerie of overprotective European royals, and a ridiculously attractive but equally irritating King. </p><p>Just what exactly has he got himself into?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lady of the Red Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> There is a bit you need to know before reading this story. 90% of the OC's come directly from a series I am writing with my co-author (and for the duration of this fic beta) Windchaser. These characters are only going to play minor roles in this story, and for the most part what you need to know about their backstories will be written in, anything else please feel free to ask me :)
> 
> The medical side of this story is something I know relatively well, I spent five years as a nurse in a spinal rehabilitation centre and am currently training to be a CCU paramedic. However if anyone notices that I've done something wrong, or that my Australian terminology is sneaking through please let me know.
> 
> Apart from that please enjoy.

It was a knock at door which awoke Bilbo Baggins at, he squinted at the red display of his alarm clock, two in the morning. Two in the morning! Who on earth would be bothering him at arse o’clock? It could be the police he mused as he pushed back the sheets and stumbled to his feet, one hand turning on his bedside lamp while the other was helping to shrug on his dressing gown, after all he didn’t exactly live in the best of neighbourhoods and since he went into witness protection well …

Anyway it did no good to wallow on those particular thoughts. He found himself turning on every light in the apartment on his way to the front door, even grabbing a fry pan from the kitchenette just in case it wasn’t the police. The banging on the door was becoming more and more insistent, and with one last tighten of his dressing gown belt he unlocked the door and wrenched it open. In situations like this he could always use the element of surprise.

On the threshold was not the police, nor was it a pair of hoodie wearing youths carrying crowbars, instead it was a heavily pregnant woman flanked on either side by ridiculously tall men wearing suits. They were also wearing sunglasses, at 2am, like they were the Men in Black or something.

“What?” he asked, glancing between the three of them before settling on the woman. “Who are you then?”

“Mister Baggins,” she said, her voice carrying a thick Australian accent. “Can we please come in?”

Hang on … Baggins? He hadn’t gone by that name for nearly two years now, and with his suspicions raised he did the same with the fry pan, he wasn’t above smashing a pregnant woman over the head if she was there to kill him.

“I’ll not ask again,” he hissed. “Who are you?”

Before he was even able to brandish the fry pan properly he found a pair of handguns pointed directly at his head by the two stone faced men.

“Oh for …” said the woman, batting angrily at the gun nearest her. “He’s not going to hurt me.”

“Sorry ma’am but we’re under orders,” said the man on her left, and Bilbo found himself almost smiling as she rolled her eyes.

“Of course you are,” she muttered. “Just put the damn guns down before someone sees you.”

“Look I’m going to call the police,” said Bilbo, trying to slam the door closed but finding himself thwarted when the woman held out a hand to stop him. God she was strong.

“Bailey Lloyd-Vaughn,” she said quickly. “That’s my name.”

“Oh,” he answered. Then … “Not _the_ Vaughns?”

“Yes, those Vaughns,” she said. “And _that_ Lloyd-Vaughn in particular.”

There was a Queen on his front doorstep, not that it wasn’t unheard of but he didn’t think Jamie from down the hall would actually like being called a queen despite everything.

“What?” he asked, lowering the fry pan. “What are you doing here … your Majesty?”

He attempted a bow, which only served to bop himself on the forehead with the fry pan and release a string of curses from him.

“Look,” she said, clearly losing patience with him. “Can we come in?”

“Oh oh of course,” he answered, standing back and waving them inside. “Please make yourself at home.”

He closed the door after them, and then looked back in dismay as the two security guards began disassembling his living room probably looking for bombs or something. The queen was following them around, snatching things out of their hands and putting them back where they belonged with an agitated and embarrassed look on her face.

Bilbo had never given much thought to the queen of Wales, having had enough of his own issues to deal with recently and hadn’t really been following the gossip of the British press.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, walking into the living room and levelling a dark look with one of the men who seemed to be looking for something in the bookcase.

“No,” answered Bailey, settling herself on his ripped couch. “No thank you.”

“So what exactly are you doing here?” He sat in the armchair across from her and folded his hands in his lap, he didn’t exactly know what the protocol was for when Royalty came and visited. The last time he had had anything to do with this family they had been grieving and he had been doing his job, somehow this felt very very different.

“Tell me Mister Baggins what do you know of Erebor?” she asked, one hand resting on her hugely swollen stomach.

Erebor. It sounded familiar that was for sure, and then he remembered seeing it on one of his dad’s old maps that he had used to keep in his study. It was an archipelago of twenty something islands in the Northern Baltic Sea, a tiny Scandinavian country with as much history as it did resources … which was to say a lot.

“Isn’t it a country?” he asked, and she nodded.

“To be honest with you I didn’t even know it existed until a few years ago,” she answered. “It’s a small country just outside of the Finnish border, so they understandably have a very close bond with the Finns.”

“But what does any of that have to do with me?” he demanded.

“You cared for my husband at Ailen County when he was shot four years ago,” she said, leaning forwards as much as her belly would allow. “He says that you were the only one who didn’t treat him any different to any of the other patients, he thought that you were an exceptional nurse and the epitome of professionalism … or something along those lines.”

“Ok …” He really wished he’d at least made himself a cup of tea, it would have given his hands something to do at least.

“Thorin the second is the current King of Erebor, and he is also my husband’s cousin,” she said. “Then again with amount of inbreeding that goes on they all seem to be cousins in some way or another.”

“That’s …” He searched for the right word. “… disturbing.”

“You have no idea,” she said with a sigh. “Thorin’s sister Dis was in a horrific car accident eighteen months ago, and while it killed her husband Lord Vili she survived but with spinal injuries so severe she is now in a wheelchair.”

He could vaguely remember hearing about that, after all the local news had been comparing it to Princess Diana since Princess Dis had been fleeing from the paparazzi at the time due to her husbands supposed affair. However Bilbo hadn’t been aware that Vili had died in the car accident, it was all quite sad really.

“Recently Thorin has made it known that they are searching for a private nurse to take care of Dis now that she is out of rehabilitation and at home,” said Bailey. “My husband recommended you for the job.”

“What!” exclaimed Bilbo jumping to his feet, something which made the security guards reach for their guns again. “No I can’t … what?”

“Here is the contract.” She laid a manila folder that he hadn’t even noticed on the coffee table. “It’s got everything in there.”

“I can’t just pack up and leave,” he said. “I have a life here, I can’t move half way across the world.”

“It’s hardly halfway across the world,” she answered, causing him to glare at her.

“No, the answer is no,” he said, shaking his head.

The whole thing was preposterous, there was just no way he could leave his comfortable little job at the local clinic or his cosy little flat to go traipsing to some Scandinavian country to look after the sister of some obscure Royal. It was ridiculous really.

“Well have a look through the contract anyway,” she said, getting to her feet with what looked like a fair degree of difficulty. “My business card is at the back of the folder should you change your mind. Have a good night.”

And with that she and her two bodyguards left the flat, and Bilbo didn’t even stop staring at the folder until her heard the door shut behind them.

\---

He didn’t even bother going to bed again since he had to be at the clinic at 6am that morning; instead he made a pot of coffee and sat sipping it whilst he sat on the wide windowsill as the rest of Manchester slowly woke up. He refused to so much as look at the contract, and completely ignored it as he got ready for work and then headed out of the door so that he could make the short walk to the clinic with plenty of time to spare.

He got into work in record time, nodding to Dr. Grubb who was the doctor on duty that day, before going back to check the crash trolley and do a count of all the vaccines so that the office manager Bell could order whatever they would need for the following week. Once everything was in order he went to curl up on the sofa in the patients lounge and indulge in another cup of coffee before the morning rush started.

“What’s wrong with you?” demanded one the other nurses Lobelia, a distant cousin of his, as she walked through the door. “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

He nodded. “Something woke me up at two and I couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Well what was his name?” she asked, placing her bag behind the reception desk and wondering into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

“Not funny Lobelia,” he said, taking another sip of the bitter liquid. “It wasn’t anything like that.”

“Hmmm,” said Lobelia, sitting next to him with her mug cradled between her hands. “Well what was it like then.”

He considered telling her everything, from the Queen of Wales showing up at his front door to the crazy job offer in some country he knew absolutely nothing about. In the end he didn’t, she would probably think he was crazy or something of the sort.

“Just a funny dream I think,” he answered, hiding his face with his mug as he took another mouthful.

“Yes well we all have them,” she said, but there was suspicion in her eyes.

He didn’t really get another chance to talk to her, or indeed anyone else, since flu season was upon them and the clinic was busier than normal with everyone wanting a flu jab. It wasn’t really until he was plodding home in the fading light, exhausted and considering not even bothering with tea and simply flopping straight onto his bed, that he even remembered what had happened in the early hours of the morning.

When he got home the manilla folder was exactly where he had left it on the coffee table, and his fingers were literally itching to open it and see precisely what it was that he had been offered. Grabbing a Pepsi out of the fridge, he found himself edging back to the table until, with a great sigh, he sat down on the sofa and pulled the folder towards himself. He had never really been all that good with temptation after all.

 The first page was a brief history of Erebor, from its independence from Sweden to the Russian occupation during world war 2, and its current history including the Royal family. King Thorin II had been on the throne for nearly fifteen years, and at fifty-three he was a much loved and revered entity in Erebor. It seemed that he had brought the country back from the social and economic ruin that his grandfather had wrought in the years following the Russian defeat, and he had once again made the world look favourably on his little country. There was a photograph of the King himself at the bottom of the page: a stern looking man, with long black hair streaked with silver which hung down past his shoulders and was held back with an assortment of twists and braids. He had a sort cropped dark beard, also streaked with silver, and piercing blue eyes. Bilbo would be blind to not notice how ridiculously attractive he was, which was another reason not to agree to the job. The last thing he needed was to be pining away after Royalty.

The next five pages was the contract itself which stated everything from living arrangements (he was expected to live in the palace in the quarters beside those of Princess Dis), to wage (which was three times more than he earned at the clinic), to his expected duties. It all seemed pretty self-explanatory and he was pleased to see that there was no small print that he had to worry about.

It was the last page which caught his attention. A summary of the Princess’s injuries and their extent, which were far worse than he had originally expected. She was a C6/7 incomplete quadriplegic, with burns to approximately 12% of her body … more than likely her legs given the kind of accident she’d been in. There was also the expected amount of mental trauma, something which when he read through her current treatment didn’t seem to have been addressed properly. All in all it seemed like a complete mess, and something which whoever was actually going to take the job would need to get under control as soon as possible.

There was a business card tucked in the back of the folder with the Royal Crest of Vaughn printed on it and beside that in neat print was written _Her Majesty Queen Bailey of Wales_ and a mobile phone number. He turned it around several times, before reaching for his phone. Who was he kidding? Of course he was going to take the job.


	2. Land of Braids and Beards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His panic attack lasted the whole way through customs, and he was just grabbing his bright red suitcase off of the conveyor belt when he remembered that there was supposed to be someone meeting him off the plane. Clinging to his luggage he scanned the crowd until he saw a sign with his name on it. Unfortunately it was being held upside down by a particularly scary looking man with a mane of wild black hair streaked with white, and a full beard. This wasn’t exactly the welcome he had been expecting into Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was informed that the way my original summary was worded it read that this was an adulterous fic ... it is not ... neither Thorin nor Bilbo are married or in a previous relationship. So I have reworded my summary.
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful Windchaser for beta.

It took him a decent amount of time to convince Her Majesty that he did not need her to send a car to take him to the airport, and even longer to convince Bell that he was making the right decision. Bailey had informed him over the phone that everything involving his witness protection would be dealt with by the Ereborian Foreign Office, and that not only would he be free to use his real name but all he needed to do was pack and make sure that he wasn’t late for his plane. Which was how he found himself in the back of a taxi with a suitcase at his feet, and his passport and business class ticket clutched in his hand.

He was anxious. No that wasn’t quite right, he was terrified. It was only six months since the last time he had had to pack up his whole life and start again, at least this time it wasn’t with a new name and identity. Thankfully he had had the foresight to know that this could all go horribly wrong: he might hate Erebor, his patient might take an instant dislike to him (it had happened before), or he may just not be what they were all expecting. His research had revealed that Erebor, like most of its neighbours, was a very socially liberal country. There was however a difference between knowing when something was what was best for the people, and letting an openly gay man be such an intimate part of your family. He had kept the lease up on his flat just in case he was sent back to England in shame.

Well they’re some depressing  thoughts, he shook his head to get rid of them only to find his golden curls falling into his eyes. He really should have gotten a hair cut, just brilliant he was going to meet a King looking like some kind of ruffian.

“We’re here.” The voice of the cab driver interrupted his thoughts, and he was surprised to find that they had not only reached the airport but had somehow made it to the taxi drop-off without him noticing.

“Oh wonderful,” he said, digging through his jacket for his wallet. “Thank you.”

He handed over a handful of notes, telling the driver to keep the change, before stepping out of the taxi dragging his suitcase behind him.

It didn’t take very long to get through Azugel Air check-in, and he soon found himself in the Escape Lounge surrounded by sharply dressed men and women who were eyeing him as if he was something particularly distasteful. All of the men had long hair held in thick braids and twists, some of them even sporting braids in their beards. From what Bilbo had read about Erebor the hair and beards, as well as decorations therein, were of significant cultural importance. The women all looked incredibly elegant, all of them draped in jewellery with intricate braids in their flowing hair. He felt so out of place amongst them that he found himself wishing that the floor would open up and swallow him. Honestly he had to pull himself together, if he was this intimidated by a few business people how on earth was he going to survive meeting Royalty?

Dragging out his iPad he connected to the lounge’s wifi and opened up the blogging site he had signed up with. Bilbo knew that he wouldn’t be able to write about most of what he was going to experience on a daily basis, part of his contract had involved very in depth security and privacy measures, but he could blog about the Erebor outside of the palace. Hopefully it would help him get back into writing since he had about fifty unfinished projects at the moment. In fact he got so caught up doing a quick outline of his story so far, that he didn’t notice that his flight had been called until he looked up to find himself along in the lounge. With a sudden flare of panic, he hurriedly gathered up his belongings and all but ran to the gate, handing his boarding pass to the smiling clerk and then boarding the plane.

The flight itself was relatively uneventful and he found himself dozing off several times. It wasn’t until the pilot was announcing that they were about to land in Thorintumhu (the capital of Erebor) that the feeling of terror turned his stomach again, making him completely miss their descent in favour of panicking.

His panic attack lasted the whole way through customs, and he was just grabbing his bright red suitcase off of the conveyor belt when he remembered that there was supposed to be someone meeting him off the plane. Clinging to his luggage he scanned the crowd until he saw a sign with his name on it. Unfortunately it was being held upside down by a particularly scary looking man with a mane of wild black hair streaked with white, and a full beard. This wasn’t exactly the welcome he had been expecting into Erebor.

“Hello,” he said, approaching the man. “I’m Bilbo Baggins.”

“Baknd ghelekh,” said the man, a wide smile lighting his face and he pressed his fist against his chest. “Bifur.”

Oh this couldn’t be happening, he hadn’t even had time to find himself a Khuzdul – English dictionary and he’d stupidly believed Wikipedia when it had said that 97% of the population knew English.

“I’m sorry,” he said, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. “I don’t understand.”

“Birashagimi,” said the man, taking Bilbo’s suitcase. “Ma Shandi.”

For several moments they simply stared at each other, and then the man grinned again.

“Bifur,” he said, pressing his fist against his chest again then he pointed to the sign and pressed his fist against Bilbo’s chest.

Ah well that made perfect sense. “Bilbo.” He pressed his fist to his own chest.

The man, Bifur as it turned out, shoved the sign under his arm and wheeling the suitcase behind him headed to the exit. It took a few moments for Bilbo to realize that if he didn’t hurry to catch up he would be horrifically lost, and he had to run after the man in the fear that he would be lost in the crowd.

The car he was led to was a large black Mercedes, with windows with a tint so dark that you couldn’t see in at all, it was intimidating in a way that he had never experienced before from an inanimate object. As soon as they reached the vehicle Bifur opened the door and gestured for Bilbo to slide onto the heated leather seats, which he sank back into in relief. He hadn’t thought that a country in the middle of the Baltic Sea would be so cold, it was a dreadful oversight and he would need to purchase some warmer clothes immediately, though it did kind of explain the hair and beards. The car alone must be worth more than his flat, and as it pulled away from the terminal Bilbo was amazed at how completely silent a car could actually be. Bifur himself seemed to have decided that since they couldn’t actually communicate outside of basic sign language that it was better not to say anything at all, and so the entire ride through Thorintumhu went by in silence.

It was a pretty enough city, with ancient buildings that architecturally were a nice blend of gothic and Norse with the occasional contemporary office block here and there. Hundreds of small parks and even woodland areas were scattered throughout the city, and there were a multitude of people walking or on bikes despite the fact that a few snowflakes had begun to fall from the overcast sky. All in all it seemed quite peaceful and homely, Bilbo found himself liking it immediately.

The winter palace, or Hurmulkezer as it was known, was exactly like the pictures that Bilbo had seen. An immense building of stone and marble rising up above acres of forest land and accessible only by a single ancient cobblestone drive which was guarded by two immense statues of ancient Kings holding axes between which was a huge wrought iron gate that slid open as they approached. The whole thing took his breath away, and for the first time since landing in Erebor Bilbo just wished he was back home in Manchester.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baknd ghelekh - good morning
> 
> Birashagimi - sorry/excuse me
> 
> Ma Shandi - I don't understand


	3. Hurmulkezer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh God, just what had he gotten himself into? This wasn’t a palace this was more like a bloody circus and he had only been here ten minutes, this was a serious mistake.  
> “Have you seen my brother?” Bilbo looked back up at the front entrance to see another man standing there, he was maybe in his mid-sixties with white hair and a long white beard. He smiled when he caught sight of the strange man standing in the driveway. “Are you Mister Baggins?”  
> “I think so yes,” he answered.  
> “Good good,” said the man. “My name is Balin Fundin and I am His Majesties chief of staff. Can you please follow me?” Bilbo nodded and climbed the stairs to join him. “Oh and Bofur your nose is bleeding, and why is Bifur laying on the grass?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually now in the process of being turned into an original novel called Crown of Sapphires. This fanfiction will continue to be written as the original is enormously different (its based more on the fili/kili side of things). However watch this space.

Bilbo was fully aware that he looked like he had a few screws loose, but he hadn’t been able to close his mouth since they had approached Hurmulkezer. He knew that Bifur thought there was something seriously wrong with him, if the glances he was getting in the rear view mirror were anything to go off anyway, but he couldn’t seem to stop. At least he wasn’t blubbering like an idiot.

The palace was built out of white and grey stone, and towered over the grounds. There were hundreds of windows, many of them made of stained glass and he could only imagine how incredible the views must be from the balconies on the third floor. Pulling the car to a halt in front of the palace, Bifur was quick to open Bilbo’s door and gesture for him to get out.

“Thank you,” he said, stepping onto the gravel drive, even though he knew the man wouldn’t understand.

It was at that moment there was a loud blast, which sounded like a gun shot, causing Bilbo to throw himself to the ground and cover his head with his arms. Above him Bifur was, what he assumed, cursing loudly in Khuzdul and Bilbo watched as he stomped off the drive and onto one of the perfectly manicured lawns. There was a man sitting on a deckchair with a glass in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Even from this distance Bilbo could tell he was reasonably attractive, with a wide grin beneath his moustache and an old tatty hat on his head. He and Bifur started yelling at each other loudly in their native tongue, waving their hands in the air and pointing first at the palace and then Bilbo. It was when the moustached man smacked Bifur over the head with the shotgun, something which earned him a punch to the face, that Bilbo scrambled to his feet watching as the other man tripped Bifur over and then hurried to where he was standing.

“Hello there,” he said, extending his hand for Bilbo to shake. “You must be Bilbo, I’m Bofur the gardener.”

Bilbo quickly shook his hand and then glanced down at the shotgun slung over his other arm. “You garden with a shotgun?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No that’s to scare away the pigeons.”

Before he had the chance to ask any more questions the huge oaken front door to the palace was wrenched open and a young man with long dark hair and a scruff of a beard came bolting outside, all but leaping down the steps and barrelling into Bilbo.

“Hello,” he said, gripping Bilbo’s forearms tightly to stop him hitting the floor again. “You must be Mister Boggins.”

“What …? Well actually …” Bilbo wasn’t able to finish correcting the youth before another figure came stomping out of the door.

It was a man, well either that or a giant, covered in tattoos and with a mostly bald head he was easily twice the height and breadth of Bilbo. He was quite possibly the most intimidating man he had ever seen, and how he had managed to fit all that body into a suit was nothing short of a miracle.

“Kili!” he yelled, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of the young man who was still holding onto Bilbo. “Get back here …”

“Nice to meet you.” Kili gave Bilbo a huge grin, and then turned to face the monster man giving him a deep bow. “Mister Dwalin.”

And with that he took off down the drive laughing, Dwalin stomping down the stairs and after him muttering Khuzdul under his breath.

“What?” he asked, turning to Bofur. “What’s going on?”

The gardener shrugged and gave him a weary smile. “Nothing out of the ordinary I assure you.”

Oh God, just what had he gotten himself into? This wasn’t a palace this was more like a bloody circus and he had only been here ten minutes, this was a serious mistake.

“Have you seen my brother?” Bilbo looked back up at the front entrance to see another man standing there, he was maybe in his mid-sixties with white hair and a long white beard. He smiled when he caught sight of the strange man standing in the driveway. “Are you Mister Baggins?”

“I think so yes,” he answered.

“Good good. My name is Balin Fundin and I am His Majesty’s chief of staff. Can you please follow me?” Bilbo nodded and climbed the stairs to join him. “Oh and Bofur your nose is bleeding, and why is Bifur laying on the grass?”

*

The front hall of the palace was huge, with marble floors and intricate panelling inlaid with gold. There were huge tapestries and paintings covering the walls, and an enormous chandelier hanging the high vaulted ceilings. There were numerous doors off the hall while further down two sweeping staircases flanking the foyer; beyond them, through a pair of open double doors, was what looked like a grand ballroom of some kind. It was enough to take his breath away really.

“Welcome to Hurmulkezer,” said Balin, throwing his arms out to draw attention to their surroundings. “Hopefully you’ll soon call it home.”

“It’s very nice,” whispered Bilbo, unable to stop staring around at everything. “Very nice.”

Balin gave a chuckle. “A bit much to begin with isn’t it?”

“Just a little bit,” he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It’ll grow on you I promise.” Balin clapped him on the shoulder. “Now I’ll take you to your room to get cleaned up and then send someone up in an hour or so to give you a tour.”

That sounded like heaven, even though it hadn’t been a particularly long flight he still felt sticky and uncomfortable in his travelling clothes. He could think of nothing better than to have a hot shower and change into something more comfortable.

“That would be lovely thank you,” he said, smiling at the small man. “But my suitcase …”

“Is already in your room,” answered Balin, causing Bilbo to swing around to see that the Mercedes was no longer in the drive. “Now come.”

Balin led him down the hall and into the foyer, gesturing for him to follow him up one of the staircases and to the second floor of the palace. The landing wasn’t anywhere near as awe inspiring as the main foyer, the walls were painted cream and it was lit with down lights. There were four doors leading off of the landing and a hallway which ran from east to west across the whole floor.

“This is where The Princes Fili and Kili have their private apartments, as well as their studies and living areas,” said Balin, nodding to two of the doors before he pointed down the hallway leading to the east wing. “Down that way is His Majesty’s private wing.”

With that Balin led him down the hall leading towards the west wing. Opening one of the two doors which led into the west wing, Bilbo found himself in a small foyer.

“This is your suite,” said Balin, opening another door and leading the way into a massive bedroom which contained a King sized bed, dresser, and loveseat.

“Through there is the wardrobe, and that door your bathroom,” He pointed to the two doors. “If you go back into the foyar and go through the opposite door there’s a living area and kitchen, though you are more than welcome to eat in the staff dining room of course.”

“Thank you,” said Bilbo, looking over to where his suitcase was sitting on the bed. “This is all very overwhelming.”

“I can only imagine,” answered Balin with a kind smile. “You have an hour before I send someone up for you.”

Bilbo nodded and with that Balin left the room, quietly closing the door after himself.

Finally alone at last Bilbo sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. It was all too much and he just felt like running the whole way back to England and hiding himself in his tiny apartment for the next year. He should never have done this, should never have come here to this mad house. Taking several deep breaths, he pried his hands away from his face and stood up. He needed a shower and hopefully the hot water would help to clear his head.

The bathroom was just as grand as the rest of the palace, all porcelain tiles and chrome with huge fluffy towels stacked on the bench and soft lighting. Both the water temperature and pressure was perfect and Bilbo could have luxuriated beneath the spray for hours, but knowing that he had limited time he quickly washed himself with the complimentary soap and then stepped back into the bedroom wearing a towel. Rifling through his suitcase he was soon dressed in a pair of cream slacks, a white button down and his favourite maroon sweater vest. Feeling clean and comfortable he was calm at last and felt able to face whatever was waiting for him on the other side of the door.


End file.
